Waves of Russian bots on makeshift Cuban boats ask for my hand in skin-tone.
Grandiose invasion of spring Mongolians perestroika down the Asian steppe, disseminate
in floral digits and April crept. Khan’s genes ringtone Sephora where I buy an eyeliner called
“Diva at Dawn.” Was content. Maybe I drink so much coffee in the evening
because I drink so much vodka in the morning. In Luanda, it costs
sixteen dollars for an apple, in Abu Dhabi, an outdated source
eats horse. Mohawk sky in Dusseldorf does me good.
Glenn Beck in a dugout canoe in the hood. Lana Del Rey with American flag,
dick and bike. He looks up from his sandwich, says, “alright.”
Hitler! Bieber! The gold map! Sea-torn yet flowery, like a liver overlaid
on the foamy bot, transplant, topographic pirate in sinkhole of insecticide and Sriracha.
Outside Orlando we ate kimchi, exchanged gelatinous-like substances, smoked pot
and when we left the shore, we were only the transport flesh of genetic material carrying records
into the forensic tide of the three-dimensional Gulf of Mexico.
Sensei, what is the point of making this report? Bros at the LA Air Force Base
gather round a piece of brie like Christmas carols. One asks me,
“Are you from Cleveland? I repeat, are you from Cleveland?”
I have no time for this. I’ve become too uppity with my risk.